


34. american psycho

by piggy09



Series: The Sestre Daily Drabble Project [269]
Category: Orphan Black (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-26
Updated: 2017-03-26
Packaged: 2018-10-10 22:03:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10448553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/piggy09/pseuds/piggy09
Summary: Sarah planned this. Sarah wrote out the list on a piece of paper and pushed it across the table to Helena and saidyou and me, magic words.





	

Sarah is blaring music in the car too loud – the music has gunshots in it, because Sarah thinks she’s funny. Helena can hear the music even from outside the car. Sarah has her sunglasses on, head lolling against the headrest, hands banging along to the beat on the steering wheel. When Helena jumps into the passenger seat and says “drive,” Sarah smashes the gas pedal to the floor and peels out into traffic. The car is thrumming with a baseline. The woman on the radio is banging on the dashboard, apparently.

“Get it done?” Sarah asks idly, weaving through lanes of traffic.

“Yes,” Helena says.

“Good girl,” Sarah says, lifting a hand off the steering wheel to ruffle Helena’s hair. There’s flecks of blood in it, still, but either Sarah doesn’t notice or Sarah doesn’t mind. Both of those things are fine. Helena mumbles along with the chorus but it isn’t a song she knows, so she only gets pieces of it. Live fast, die young, something something.

Sarah moves her hand from Helena’s hair to the glovebox, pops it open. She’s slowed the car down to normal-people-speed, and she shoves her sunglasses up into the tangled mess of her hair. “Check the list?” she says.

Helena does. They’re not nearly to the bottom of it, but they’re getting there. She pulls a Sharpie out of the glovebox, smells the sharp stab of it, crosses a name out in a neat line. If Sarah asked her, Helena would say that’s her favorite part. It isn’t! But she would tell Sarah that.

“Next one is in Detroit,” Helena says. Sarah fumbles for the dial, turns the radio down. Even with one hand on the wheel she’s better at driving than Helena is; Helena always forgets that turn signals exist, always goes too fast, always draws too much attention. That’s why she needs Sarah.

“I hate Detroit,” Sarah mutters. “When do we get back to New York, Helena?”

Helena counts names. “Not for long time,” she says.

Sarah says a word that isn’t very nice. They slowly and politely pull into the parking lot of their hotel, and Sarah cuts the engine. The car ticks itself to sleep and Sarah unbuckles her seatbelt, turns and looks at Helena. It’s a good thing she’s pushed her sunglasses up, because now Helena can see her eyes. That makes it easier. Sarah worries, sometimes, about what they’re doing; that worry comes out in different ways. Sometimes it makes her tired. Sometimes it makes her the opposite of that – and Helena likes those days, because they go out to clubs and Sarah does shots with Helena and they never know which one of them will win and they go dancing, which isn’t like sex or fighting at all. But those aren’t always good days for Sarah. So.

Today Sarah just looks like herself – like she’s going to start smirking any second, even if that smirk hasn’t showed up on her face yet. She licks the pad of her thumb and then wipes it over Helena’s cheek, pulls it back red.

“You’ve gotta get better at cleanup, meathead,” she says, sounding amused.

“Sorry,” Helena says. “Big hurry.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Sarah says. She turns back to the wheel, yanks the keys out, tosses them and catches them in one easy motion. “I got you,” she says. “Don’t worry.”

“I don’t,” Helena says, surprised that she even has to say it out loud. She never worries. Sarah drives them away, Sarah books their hotel, Sarah wrote out this list on a piece of paper and pushed it across the table to Helena and said _you and me_ , magic words. Helena hasn’t worried even one time since Sarah first turned the keys in the ignition.

Sarah flips her sunglasses back over her eyes, elbows the door open and hops out of the car. “C’mon,” she says, “let’s raid the vending machine, I’m too wiped for dinner.”

Helena loves it when they raid the vending machine. It’s her favorite. She fumbles with her seatbelt and gets out of the car, follows Sarah to the hotel. Sarah clicks the button on the keys to make the car lock, and it’s safe behind them. And they’re safe here: Sarah leading Helena forward, Helena not worrying about either of them at all.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Please kudos + comment if you enjoyed! :)


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